From a door to the right of the entrance, a woman of medium height appeared with the sleeves of her white blouse rolled up to above the elbows. Because of the dim light Gurdweill could not see her face properly. She said in a voice that seemed to him extremely sharp: ‘Very pleased to meet you, Herr Doktor! Welcome! Everything will be ready in a minute.’

And she shut the door behind her.

Heidelberger ushered him into a small dining room furnished with plain but sturdy furniture, and pulled out a chair from the table in the middle of the room. ‘I have to wash a bit after work. Excuse me a minute,’ he said and went back into the passage, closing the door behind him.

Some kind of exchange between the husband’s rough voice and that of his wife immediately ensued, but Gurdweill could not make out a word of it. He felt unsure of himself and ill at ease, and wondered what devil had persuaded him to enter this alien household. As if to give himself courage, he lit a cigarette and glanced quickly around the room and its contents. His eye was caught by a group of photographic portraits on the opposite wall. One of them, a large picture in a black frame, was the portrait of an old woman with a crumpled face, a sunken mouth, and a mean, penetrating look in her eyes. This look was aimed directly at Gurdweill and made him feel distinctly uncomfortable, as if the person staring at him were alive. She must be Heidelberger’s mother — he concluded — no doubt about it. Next to this portrait was one of Heidelberger in army uniform with a bristling moustache, and a third picture was a group portrait of men in uniform.

Heidelberger’s wife returned with a tablecloth and cutlery to lay the table. She was about twenty-six years old, not at all ugly, with quick movements in spite of her rather bulky body, and lively, darting eyes.

‘Please don’t get up,’ she said politely to Gurdweill as he pushed back his chair to make room for her. ‘Don’t trouble yourself, Herr Doktor.’ And she added with a significant smile and a twinkle in her eye: ‘A diligent housewife never disturbs her guests.’

Working briskly and deftly the young woman set the table, stealing covert glances at her visitor as she did so. Gurdweill felt as if he had taken a seat to which his ticket did not entitle him, in the theatre or some such place, from which he was in danger of being ejected at any moment. He said in an embarrassed, apologetic tone, ‘Gnädige Frau, I’m really not in the least hungry and I beg you not to trouble yourself on my account. And besides, I can’t stay long. I have to leave in another fifteen minutes at the most. Please forgive me for having disturbed you.’